


Tats and Tar

by feverbeats



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fuck it," the boy with the cigarette in his hand says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tats and Tar

  
The London gutters are full of leaves and trash, and the wind stirs them up in tiny whirlwinds.

Four teenagers are hanging out on the stoop of the one of the shitty apartment complexes, talking in low voices. One of them, wearing a green sleeveless shirt despite the chill, is smoking a cigarette. His hair sticks up like it has too much gel in it.

A girl with blue-streaked, mad hair and a sharp face is sitting up on the railing and swinging her feet a little too hard. One of them taps the shoulder of the heavy, pretty girl sitting in front of the doorway.

The fourth looks a little younger than the others. He's wearing a red hoodie and lying splayed across the remaining space on the steps, flicking sparks from the tip of his wand. His floppy brown hair hangs in his face.

A few more red sparks fly out of wand and bounce away into the darkness.

"Fuck it," the boy with the cigarette in his hand says.

The blue-haired girl glares at him. "Don't start that. I was actually having a good night, you wanker."

The others nod, and the other girl joins in the glaring. "Yeah, don't do that. Rowena's fucking depressed enough of the time without you doing that."

"Thanks, Helga," Rowena mutters.

"But only because she's a genius," the boy in red says thoughtfully. "Geniuses are always—"

"Fucking depressed," the smoker finishes. "Yeah, I got that. Sorry." He inclines his head toward Rowena.

"Whatever," she says. "I get that you're having trouble lately."

"Joined a gang, last I 'eard," the boy in red says.

"_Godric_," Helga snaps. "Don't be a—Well, that's just bollocks and you know it." She curses like it doesn't come naturally.

Godric sighs sharply but doesn't move from his sprawl. "'s not." He inclines his head toward his friend. "Is it, Sal?"

"Yeah, _Sal_, is it?" Rowena says viciously.

"I—It's not a _gang_. And I'm going by Salazar now, remember?" The boy runs a thumb over his pointed chin. "They're a—you know, a society. A group of purebloods. We just get together and talk about things."

"A gang," Godric confirms angrily.

"Don't _do_ this," Rowena snap, sending a particularly vicious kick into the air.

"Watch it," Helga says, ducking Rowena's foot.

Salazar stretches, an exaggerated motion with too many twists of sharp shoulder bones. "Doesn't matter, anyhow. They wouldn't let _you_ join."

"You're not a pureblood either," Helga says in a conciliatory voice, shifting away from Rowena's foot again with a nervous glance at her.

"Some of you have got the wrong ideas, that's all. That's what it's really about," Salazar notes. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and breathes in smoke in Godric's face.

Godric blushes angrily when Salazar laughs. "Better than having the right ideas, innit?" he snaps. "Least, if your mad blood pushing is what people think is _right_ these days."

Salazar shrugs. "I'm not taking it as seriously as all that, G." Catching a look at Godric's face, he hastens, "No, really, I'm _not_. I haven't gotten myself one of those bloody silly tattoos the rest of them have, for starters."

"Oh," Helga says, "Now you're just trying to make Godric angry because he's got all those—"

"Bloody silly tattoos," Rowena finishes, looking pleased with herself.

"Fuck off," Godric says, but he seems to have been momentarily distracted from his tirade against Salazar's gang.

"Come on," Salazar says suddenly, "Let's get inside. Storm coming."

The others look up at the dark sky. "Yeah," Rowena says, "Okay."

As they're shuffling inside the door of the apartment complex, though, Godric whispers to Salazar, "Don't think I'm about to forget what you're doing."

"You never would," Salazar sighs. "Hurry up, it's starting to rain."


End file.
